


The First Three Fingers of Your Right Hand

by SammysGirl666



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, M/M, Sam is 12, Underage Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5887090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SammysGirl666/pseuds/SammysGirl666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean walks in on Sammy trying to finger himself. He just needs a little help and who is Dean to deny him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Three Fingers of Your Right Hand

Anyone who doesn’t think Dean is the patron saint of self-control, doesn’t have Sam Winchester as a little brother. At twelve, Sam is still all peach fuzz and supple curves that are just beginning to define him. Still kind of chubby and sweet-cheeked, with candy-apple lips and wide eyes, a walking temptation.

Whether the boy knows it or not, Dean’s not sure. All he knows is that it gets worse with each passing day, each moment Sam has his hands (bigger than they’ve ever been but still small) on Dean, the older boy feels as if he might lose to these sick feelings tearing at him. It wasn’t always like this, Dean isn’t a complete pervert. Started maybe just when Sam turned 12, got worse with every smile and every time that bottom lip protruded out in a pout.

Dean wants to devour Sam whole, take all his softness for himself, and keep it safe and his forever. But he refrains, clenches his fists and squeezes his eyes shut when the feelings threaten to take over.

But Sam is perfect, a perfect little brother, so of course he gives Dean this too.

It’s not something they discuss prior, it’s a complete surprise. Dean walks into the motel room and sees Sammy on the bed, naked, short legs parted and one arm reached back, a skinny finger sunk into his asshole and the other hand tugging on his pretty, hairless cock. Dean curses, knows he should leave but can’t. Sam’s face is contorted into one of exertion and frustration as his hands move, off-beat, simultaneously.

Dean doesn’t mean to, but a sound escapes his throat and Sam’s head snaps around to look at his brother, wide-eyed. His whole body flushes red and he pulls his hands away from himself, scrambling off the bed.

“Dean!” He cries in surprise. “I-I’m, I was just—I couldn’t. I was.”

He stutters and stammers and then bolts into the bathroom, the lock clicking behind him. Dean curses, adjusts the throbbing erection in his jeans and walks to the bathroom door. He knocks softly at the door and sighs when he gets no response.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean says. “It’s okay, little man. We…we all do it. No reason to be embarrassed. Why don’t ya put some clothes on and come on out of there.”

For a long time, Dean doesn’t get a response and almost considers leaving the room to give Sam his space but then the young, timid voice comes from the other side of the door.

“Okay,” Sam says and the lock clicks again. The door opens and Sam steps through and Dean chokes because Sam didn’t put on any clothes. He averts his eyes and ignores the way his dick twitches in his pants.

“What’s wrong, Sammy?” Dean asks, when the young boy solemnly wraps a towel around himself. He looks up at Dean through his lashes, shrugs and blushes.

“Nothing,” he mutters.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Dean persists, even as a voice in the back of his head tells him to let it go. “You wanna talk about it?”

Dean can do this, he thinks. They can talk about sex and Sam masturbating without repercussions. He sits down on the bed, the bed that Sammy had just been writhing all over, and waits for the other boy to speak.

“I was…” Sam trails off and his face gets redder. “I was trying to find my prostate.”

He says it so quietly, Dean almost misses it. But then he gets it and the words go straight to his already hard cock. A piece of him snaps and it’s all he can do not to tackle Sam back on the bed and show him every pleasurable act in the book.

“Oh Sammy,” Dean says, trying to sound sympathetic but it comes out low and rough and filled with arousal and Sam’s big eyes get even wider as his round face gets a shade redder, so that he looks like a tomato.

“You…you know about sex, right, Dean?” And Sam’s crackling voice tripping over the word “sex” almost does it for Dean. Almost. He closes his eyes and takes a deep, cleansing breath.

“I know a little about a lot of things, Sammy,” Dean says in response, trying to play it off with a joke. But Sam’s eyes remain wide and earnest and his flushed little face gets that determined look on it that terrifies Dean as much as it turns him on.

“Show me, Dean,” Sam asks, voice going breathy and pleading. Dean couldn’t resist if he tried, Sam’s little plead breaks him in two. “Teach me how to find my prostate.”

And oh, Dean is going to teach Sam a lot more than that, if he teaches him anything. But they can start with this. Dean doesn’t know where his moral compass goes, if he ever had one. He doesn’t know if he even thought of saying no as Sam climbs onto the bed and drops the towel to reveal his pretty pink cock and fluttering little hole. Dean has to bite down a lewd sound that comes to the back of his throat.

Sam takes a bottle of lube from the bedside table and pours it all over the first three fingers of his right hand.

Dean’s mind short circuits and he’s as good as sold on the idea when Sam starts to finger himself again. Okay, he thinks bracingly, he can do this. Can hardy think past the aching in his jeans, but he can do this.

“Are you sure, Sammy?” He asks, has to ask for his own sanity.

“Mhm,” Sam hums, practically chirps in a way that breaks Dean’s heart and does terrible things to his libido.

Dean blows out a breath, shaky with nerves, but the lust quickly takes reign and he walks close to the bed. Reaches forward to put his hand over the one Sam has fingering himself. He takes it and starts to control the movements. Sam gasps. Maybe this isn’t what Sam meant, but Dean can’t help but touch, feels quenched after months of crawling the desert. The pale, soft skin is even softer than he imagined and he wants to run his hands and lips all over it.

Again, he refrains, fights to just keep the contact to this, him guiding Sam’s small hand in a way that will bring the boy pleasure.

“Wiggle your finger too, Sammy,” Dean directs, voice shot. “It’ll help you find it if you move your finger around.”

Sam takes his advice and starts to move his finger around as Dean guides his hand in and out. Dean watches, rapturously, taking in every little detail of Sam’s dusky pink hole, closing around his thin finger with every movement.

“Still don’t feel anythin’, Dean,” Sam says, sounds like he’s pouting and Dean wants to shove his cock between those sweet lips. He closes his eyes and opens them again, taking another shuddering breath.

“Try addin’ another one,” Dean says, practically chokes when his suggestion is taken. Watches as Sam works two fingers into himself, never moving his hand as he continues to guide the movements even though Sam has probably picked up on the rhythm by now.

Sam doesn’t protest, seems to happily let Dean control things. Dean forgets himself, gets lost in the sweet soft sin of Sam’s body, the warm entrapment of his guileless eyes and parted lips.

“Gotta get ‘em deep, Sammy,” Dean prompts, pushes Sam harder and further. “Wiggle them fingers Sammy.”

Dean pushes up, gets Sam fingers deep and the boy wiggles them and his head snaps back, mouth dropping open in a choked gasp.

“Dean!” Sam cries, and said like that, it almost ruins Dean. “Dean I found it! Yeah, right there.”

Dean should stop now, should let Sam take care of the rest. But the sound of his name on Sam’s lips is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard and he starts to move Sam’s hand faster and harder, probably hurting the boy’s wrist but Sam doesn’t seem to care, meets Dean’s guiding actions thrust for thrust.

“You like that, Sammy,” Dean asks, can’t help the way the words come. “It’s good isn’t it? And if you do it a lot, you’ll be able to come like this one day. Just from this.”

Sam lets out a long, low groan that sets Dean’s inside ablaze. He moves Sam’s hand faster, continues to watch Sam’s wet fingers stretch open his pink hole. Their combined actions start to make this delicious squelching sound that does funny things to Dean’s stomach.

“Can you get a third one in there, Sammy?” and he’s just being greedy now, but he wants to see it. Wants to see Sam take three of his own fingers, want’s to imagine it’s his cock that Sam is losing his mind on.

Sam answers without words, working a third finger in along the other two and Dean can’t hold back the groan this time at the sight. He finally stops guiding Sam’s hands and, instead, uses his own hands to pull Sam’s cheeks apart so he has a better view. Sam gets harder and more brutal with it, driving his fingers inside of himself and calling out for Dean so often, Dean could drown in the sound of it. His cock is impossibly hard in his jeans, leaking precome and he wants nothing more than to jerk off all over Sam’s writhing little body but, again, refrains.

The _patron fucking saint_ of self-control, he swears.

He just keeps his gaze fixed on Sam’s working fingers. Wants to die a little when Sam reaches down with his other hand to start tugging on his cock. The boy loses the rhythm a bit and Dean brings his hands back to continue guiding. Sam cries out thankfully and then his voice breaks as come dribbles out of his pretty little cock, onto the sheets below.

Dean curses, waits to make sure Sam is okay and then bolts into the bathroom, himself. He hastily undoes the button and zip of jeans before pulling his aching cock out. He strokes furiously and it ends embarrassingly fast.

Calls out Sam’s name as he spills all over his hand. His heart is hammering and his breathing is heavy after it’s over. He closes his eyes and his head thunks back against the bathroom door. He wipes his hand off and then cracks the door open, looks to see Sam under the covers, naked, eyes closed. Napping.

Dean huffs and closes the door again. He looks at himself in the mirror, waits for disgust that doesn’t come. He imagines Sam’s sweet little face, red lips and big eyes…covered in his big brother’s come. Dean’s spent cock twitches a the mental image.  

Yeah, he thinks helplessly, he can do this.

**Author's Note:**

> More writing at veganweecest.tumblr.com


End file.
